Reggie leaned back on Rico's couch, his eyes never leaving Rico's face as he listened intently to his response. Gunther, on the other hand, took another swig of his beer, his expression unreadable but his presence emanating a palpable sense of danger. Randal lounged in the corner, his gaze flickering between Rico and his brothers, a sly smile playing on his lips.
"You see, Rico, we're not ones to forget a debt owed to us," Reggie said smoothly, his tone deceptively calm.
Rico swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their collective gaze bearing down on him. "I-I never meant to get involved in any of that. It was just a job, a job that went wrong," he stammered, his voice trembling slightly.
"A job that went wrong?" Gunther repeated, his voice low and menacing. "You shot at us, Rico. You tried to take us out. And now you think you can just start fresh, leave your sins behind?"
"I paid my dues. I served my time," Rico protested weakly, his eyes darting nervously between the three intruders.
Reggie's lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, but serving time doesn't erase the past, Rico. It doesn't undo the damage you caused. And now, here you are, caught in the middle of it all once again."
Rico felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the gravity of the situation. These men weren't here for idle chit-chat; they were here for retribution, and Rico was squarely in their sights.
Reggie's gaze bore into Rico, his eyes cold and calculating. "Rico, let's cut to the chase. We know you're involved in Blake's disappearance. The longer you deny it, the more painful things will become for you."
Rico shook his head adamantly. "I don't know where Blake is. I told you already."
Gunther chuckled, his voice dripping with malice. "He's lying, Reggie. I can see it in his eyes. Shall I persuade him to speak?"
Reggie raised a hand to halt Gunther. "Not yet, Gunther. Let's give him another chance to cooperate. After all, we're civilized beings, aren't we?"
Randal leaned back in the couch, a sinister grin playing on his lips. "Reggie's right. We don't want to make a mess in this lovely home of yours, Rico. But we will if we have to."
Rico felt a shiver run down his spine at the veiled threat. He couldn't care less about his house. He just wanted the whole ordeal to end. He knew how dangerous Reggie was. After all, he had a front seat view to see everything on that faithful day outside the casino. As for Gunther and Randal however, he didn't know them but they looked and felt equally threatening.
Were they even humans?! This was something that crossed his mind but having them sit right in front of him, he didn't have the leisure of pondering upon it.
Rico hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached out to accept the glass. He could feel the weight of Gunther's gaze bearing down on him, sending shivers down his spine. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to collect the glass, though his fingers trembled as he held it.
Gunther smiled, his demeanor deceptively genial as he rested a hand on Rico's shoulder. "Relax, my friend," he said, his voice low and soothing. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
But Rico couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him, the sense that something was terribly wrong. He glanced around the dimly lit room, the shadows dancing ominously in the corners, before returning his gaze to Gunther.
As if sensing his discomfort, Gunther's smile widened, though there was a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You know," he began, his tone conversational, "there was a time when Friday nights meant something different."
Rico's brow furrowed in confusion, unsure of where Gunther was going with this. But he remained silent, his curiosity piqued despite the growing sense of foreboding that prickled at the edges of his consciousness.
Gunther took a sip of his drink, the liquid glinting in the dim light as he spoke. "Long ago," he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "Friday nights were for going out with friends, for laughter and camaraderie."
He paused, as if lost in memories of a time long past. "Beer," he mused, his gaze distant, "beer used to be beer back then. Not the cheap swill they pass off as beer these days."
Rico nodded in understanding, though the tension in the room seemed to thicken with each passing moment. He took a tentative sip of his drink, the liquid burning as it slid down his throat, though whether from the alcohol or from fear, he couldn't say.
Gunther's hand tightened around Rico's shoulder, his grip firm and unyielding. "You know what I hate more than cheap, terrible beer?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Rico swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he met Gunther's intense gaze. "N-no," he stammered, his heart hammering in his chest.
Gunther leaned in close, his breath hot against Rico's ear. "Bad liars," he whispered, his voice a menacing growl. "I hate bad liars."
Rico felt a cold sweat break out across his brow as Gunther's eyes flashed red, the darkness within them seeming to swallow him whole. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest his innocence, but the words died in his throat as Gunther's grip tightened even further.
And in that moment, Rico knew with a chilling certainty that he was in the presence of something far more sinister than he had ever imagined.
As Gunther's laughter echoed through the room, Rico's world spiraled into darkness, his mind consumed by a primal fear unlike anything he had ever known before.